“That sounds thin.”
“It is.” Hunter’s voice stays flat. “It’s also more than we had yesterday.”
I sit with that for a second. “Call me after?”
“If there’s anything worth moving on, I’ll call. Until then, keep your local notes separate. If the chief is steering this, don’t give her a reason to take your hands off the wheel.”
The line cuts after that, and I keep the phone in my hand for a moment before setting it down. Reyes returns seconds later, sipping coffee from the breakroom with a grimace on her face. “That bad?” she asks.
“Ish. I’m worried that Morrison has a stake in this that goes beyond just trying to find a suspect.”
She leans one hand on the back of my chair, reading over my shoulder. “And you’re going to find the connection because you now have someone… excuse me,twosomeones.”
I ignore that, refocusing my attention on the immediate issue. “I need to talk to Kade to see if he has any other connections that might explain Morrisons’ interest.”
Reyes studies me for a second, then a smile creeps onto her face. “Sure. And you’ll need to do this offsite just so Morrison doesn’t catch you, probably from the safety of his office or couch or whatever excuse you’re about to give me.” I open my mouth tosay something but she just shakes her head. “Nope, no excuses. Go find your Alpha.”
“He’s not my Alpha, Reyes. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this.”
“Right, of course. There’s absolutelynoreason why you smell like him.” She leans in and takes a sniff, trying and failing not to laugh. “And why you also smell like that adorable Omega.”
I grunt and grab my coat, throwing her a middle finger as I push toward the door. An officer catches me, a frown spreading across his face. “Yo, where you off to?”
“Just trying to get some answers.”
He laughs. “Grayson, Jesus, I know you were on some big bad task force before coming back here but we’re not all just going off on adventures tracking down information. The paperwork does most of the job and you don’t need to beat a dead horse just to prove a point.”
I tilt my head to the side, studying the Alpha who brought Kade in almost a week ago. “You’re right. But I’m also not going to let someone shove that dead horse in a fucking closet because it suits some corrupt purpose.”
Pushing past him, I don’t stop moving until I’m in my car. I peel off down the street, heading straight for Rourke Securities when I notice a black sedan behind me. It’s followed me the last three turns and a lane switch, which is wildly obvious this late in the morning.
At first, it sits three cars back, close enough to notice but not close enough to force a call. When I turn left at the bakery block, it follows. When I take the construction detour instead of the faster route, it follows again. I keep my speed steady, check the mirrors only when traffic gives me a reason, and take the old courthouse loop to make sure I’m not turning coincidence into a theory because I’m already wired wrong today.
The sedan stays through two more turns. At the red light near Vey, I get enough of the front plate to enter it into my phone. Two streets before Rourke Securities, the sedan peels off without signaling, and I keep driving like my pulse hasn’t just changed its entire opinion of the morning.
By the time I park outside Rourke Securities, I have the plate, the route, and the timestamps logged. The fact that I came here first instead of going back to the station is an issue, and I have less room to pretend otherwise with every step toward the lobby.
Kade meets me like he knew I was coming before the front desk called. He’s in a dark sweater with the sleeves pushed to his forearms, his jaw rough from not shaving, and the second cedar reaches me, the hallway kiss comes back with enough clarity that I look toward the security desk before I look at him.
His eyes narrow. “What happened?”
“I picked up a tail on the way over.”
He looks past me once, toward the front doors, then nods toward the secure hall. “Office.”
Sloane is already upstairs with a laptop open and exterior feeds pulled across the screen. Kade gives him the plate while I walk through the route. There’s no small talk, and for once I’m grateful for it. The three of us stand around Kade’s desk while Sloane pulls footage from the night before.
I catch the sedan passing just as I pulled into the lot, Sloane rewinding the tape slowly. He stops it when the sedan passes the company’s exterior camera just after eight. Same make, same small dent near the rear quarter panel, different plate.
Sloane’s expression tightens. “That’s not a casual pass.”
“No.” I lean closer to the screen, keeping my coat on because taking it off feels too much like settling in. “Fuck. When did you get in, Kade?”
“Around eight,” he grumbles.
I gesture to Sloane to rewind further, back to the last time I was here. He complies, the next clip catching the sedan rolling by maybe fifteen minutes before I showed up. Another plate. Same dent. Same tinted back window. Sloane exports both clips and labels them without asking for instructions.
“I’ll send clean copies to Baxter and Dana,” he says, glancing between us just long enough to prove he has noticed the charge in the room and is choosing to live. “Do you need me?”
